A Little Blood And Nicotine
by Salamander
Summary: Getting your powers under control is a good thing, right? Well, what if it brought back old, "normal" problems? Rating for some bad language and a somewhat touchy subject. Now a part of my Normal Again series.


Disclaimer: Nothing's mine. :) It's all Marvel's. Except the story idea. And since Marvel gave up on GenX, I would gladly receive the rights to them. I mean, Marvel's not gonna do anything.

Notes: No real changes to this fic except that it's now in html format instead of text. And I'd also like to note that this is now part of a series called Normal Again. I will be putting up other Normal Again short stories soon.

I did, however, want to change some of the notes. This fanfic deals with self-mutilation. It's a serious problem. If you can't handle it, you shouldn't read this fic. This story was done out of complete respect for everyone dealing with cutting.

I would also like to comment on a reply I've gotten, pointing out something I wrote about Jono's parents. I know it's not their faults. The rest of the series might show the frame of mind he's in. Hopefully. I hope that can clear up some of his rationalizations.  
  


  
He couldn't remember hurting more. And it had nothing to do with the fresh, angry cuts displayed on his left forearm. He was supposed to be fine, so why was there something wrong with him?  
  


Well, okay, admittedly, he had a good idea. He was fairly sure his manic depression didn't help any. But still . . .  
Life was looking up for him. Couldn't he enjoy it?  
  


How good was life if he had to trade one handicap in for another one. He couldn't help but feel gypped by the deal.  
  


"Goddamn chemicals."  
  


That's what it all came down to. A chemical imbalance.  
  


Kind of.  
  


His cutting had something to do with that and something to do with the way his parents had been treating him for God knew how long. One of the psychiatrists he used to see had told him that.  
  


That just pissed him off. Who were his parents to ruin his life when they weren't even in it any longer?!  
  


"Ass holes."  
  


Yeah. That's right, Jono, you tell the world.  
  


He huffed a bit and slouched further into his beanbag chair. On dreary days like this, his basement room felt deeper than it was. Like it was some kind of tomb or cave or something. He knew it wasn't any more humid there than it was anywhere else on campus. But for some reason it felt like it was.  
  


"Dank."  
  


Just great. He was talking to himself. Again.  
  


Well, whom else was he going to talk to? Everyone expected him to be happy. Why wouldn't he be happy? That's how a normal person would feel. But not Jono. Jono wasn't normal.  
  


He brought his cigarette up to his mouth and took a long, lingering drag. He watched as he slowly let small tufts of smoke escape his mouth.  
  


Mmmm . . . he was so relaxed now. What a freak. A little blood and nicotine and the kid was alright.  
  


That wasn't normal.  
  


He knew it.  
  


He didn't care.  
  


Jono choked a bit, and he pounded on his chest. He didn't know why he'd done it. Wasn't like that was going to help him. He couldn't cough up the smoke that had been pestering his lungs. Well, he could. But . . .  
  


"Oh bloody 'ell. Shut up."  
  


He hated thinking now. When he thought, he thought stupid things. Unless they were disturbing or uncomfortable thoughts. They were almost the same thing to him now, though.  
  


He spied the small amount of skin on his chest that was exposed. He raised an eyebrow to it and licked his lips. He lowered his cigarette down. The whole thing felt like it was being done on an impulse, but he did it too slowly for it to be blamed on something like that.  
  


The cigarette touched his skin for no more than a second before he jumped to his feet. His handsome face was marred by an angry, pained scowl.  
  


What had he done that for?!  
  


It was like he had been making sure he was whole. Like all the other times he had mutilated himself because he "thought it was a dream." Yeah, Jono, keep telling yourself that.  
  


With a snarl, his lanky legs carried him across his room where he aggressively rubbed the cigarette out of commission. He let out a big breath and then kicked one of his speakers for good measure.  
  


"Fuck me." He frowned and brought up his right hand and gently rubbed the small burn on his chest.  
  


So this is what he got? A mouth. A chest. Manic depression. The ability to bleed again.  
  


Yeah. That was exactly what he needed.  
  


Be careful what you wish for . . .  
  


Yeah. No shit.  
  


For several years, he had wished for nothing but his mouth and chest. And then when he got what he had been wishing for, he was able to function like a normal human being, producing hormones and chemicals and blood. But it came with a price. His manic depression came back. And with a vengeance. It was worse than he ever remembered.  
  


And then the cutting . . .  
  


Ugh!  
  


Jono stood in front of his television, his back to it and his head slouched.  
  


"Fuck me."


End file.
